Honestly, the school day could have gone much, much worse. Actually, it almost passed like a normal day, before everything got messed up. Danny passed me a couple of notes during class, poking jokes at the teacher's obvious mistakes—honestly, sometimes it feels like we're the ones doing the teaching, she's so old and forgetful, even though sometimes I feel bad for laughing—and for a second I don't remember what the hell went wrong. Of course, I'm very much reminded of the circumstances when Danny doesn't even think of sitting with the rest of his friends but with me, and Scott, and Allison during lunch. It's only a little bit out of necessity, but more so than I'd like; the necessity of avoiding the other table where Derek is seated, that is.

At some point during the day, Scott asks me how things are with Danny, and I really don't know what to tell him. I've treated our relationship in a million different ways in the shortest possible range of time that I barely know what's going on. At first, things were normal, then there was some awkwardness and tension towards which I've been completely oblivious, as it seems—causing Derek's dispute with Danny—and up until yesterday I was completely sure Danny belonged with Derek. Now… Now I'm just plain confused.

I decide to take things one step at a time, and ask questions to which I can actually get answers—simple questions.

Do I want Danny? Yes, I do. Do I want him with Derek? No, not after I did some thinking. As it turns out, Scott was right. Things with Danny were getting kind of official, and I was just trying to keep that from happening. Do I want to keep it up with Danny? Yes, I do.

Does Derek want me?

Either way, the evidence, which allows this question to even be posed, constitutes Danny's arguments against Derek's "advances" towards me. Basically, if I have reason enough to wonder this, Danny has reasons enough to worry about it, too. Not to cause a scene in the middle of the school, in my opinion, but worry, yes. However, due to my aforementioned wanting to keep it up with Danny, the answer to this question should be irrelevant to my intentions with the two of them. Until hard evidence makes its way to the surface concerning the topic, my attitude has no reason to change.

So why do I desperately want to know the answer?

"Danny?" I ask and touch his shoulder. Between the moment I do so, and the moment he turns around so I can see his face, I have a mini freak-out session, during which I sincerely believe I poked a stranger's shoulder.

"Hey," he smiles, and slows down for me, but does not stop walking altogether.

"Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"Uh, class?" he says. To be honest, I was stalling when I asked that. But the inevitable is still just as inevitable three seconds later, so might as well get it over with.

"I know you got in a fight with Derek, but I don't know why you won't tell me about it."

He stops walking.

"Stiles, no offence, but how I deal with my friends is kind of my business," he says in a manner that doesn't quite suggest any offence, but isn't actually inviting.

"Yeah, well, when it affects your mood and the way you treat people—including me, by the way—it becomes kind of my business as well. I just wish you'd tell me how you felt because this is obviously getting to you," I say. As soon as I do so, I realise that I could have phrased it a little bit better, but it doesn't really matter, because he simply deadpans, "I should get to class. Meet me here after school," and walks off.

Indeed, we do meet after school, but I don't worry until that time comes. At least, I tell myself not to worry. His tone and expression and everything else were totally neutral; neither angry, nor sad. Just neutral… So, no reason to worry, right?

"Are you hungry?" he asks. Of course I agree to go to lunch because, when am I not hungry? We agree to drive separately to some thai restaurant that makes a chicken curry sent from the heavens above, we sit down at my favourite table and order our meal.

"Look, about earlier today," he begins with no hesitation, "you said something, and it got me thinking…"

"Thinking in a good way or in a bad way?" I interrupt him, wincing. I really don't need to be getting in any fights with Danny, too, now. There's been enough of that all around since yesterday.

"Well, neither," he concludes after some thought. "Listen, about me and Derek. The two of us, we've been friends for a long time now, but you and I didn't meet that long ago. I don't know how to say this without being offensive, so I won't try to sugarcoat it because I know you're logical enough to see this from my perspective. The truth of the matter is: I trust him more than you.

"I know him like my brother. Of course, I want to get to know you like something so different, but I know Derek like my brother. I know how he works, and how he thinks, and we've had fights much worse than this one." He stops and gives a frustrated sigh before going on.

"I guess I didn't tell you anything about it, because it didn't seem like it was important enough to worry you with it. I trusted Derek and myself to figure things out by ourselves, as we've done many times before. Does this make sense?" he asks timidly.

"I think yes…" I reply slowly, and thoughtfully. "Basically, it didn't seem like a big deal to you, so you didn't mention it?"

"Yes, exactly," he nods, pleased with himself. However, I'm not pleased.

"But, to be honest, it didn't really seem like 'not a big deal' when the two of you were going at it in the middle of the school, or when you told me that it was none of my business. It actually seemed like there was quite a lot to worry about."

"Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry about that one," he nods apologetically, "but I don't really think before I speak sometimes."

"We have that in common," I smirk. He smiles as he goes on.

"It's just that… I'm a private person. I don't know if that's good enough, but it's all I've got. Talking is not my strong suit."

I give him a sympathetic look while the waiter brings over our food. It pains me to have the plate sit in front of me, but I have another—particularly nosy—question to make.

"Can I ask you something nosy?" His face almost looks as if he wasn't expecting a private inquiry after admitting that he's a private person.

"Okay, go ahead."

"What were you even fighting about?"

"Nothing important," he says while waving his hand dismissively. "It's just… I heard a rumour and it got me kind of paranoid and I went at him for no good reason, really. I plan on apologising as soon as possible, if it helps your curiosity."

I smile politely and we get to business with the curry. I guess, if he doesn't want to tell me, he doesn't actually have to. It looks like Danny really isn't as open and inviting as he lets on. I just with I'd known that going into a relationship with him.

"So, how's the limitless free time treating you boys?" Ms. McCall asks us.

"Christmas break has never been more highly anticipated," I declare while she, Scott and I sit around the living room with cups of coffee in our hands—coffee she promises is purely Colombian, but really tastes like a Starbucks drink. Maybe Colombian coffee isn't as much as it's been built up to be. Maybe Starbucks really does serve Colombian coffee, which is why I can't tell the difference.

"Stiles, will you tell her she's being totally irrational about next week?" Scott pipes up.

"What's next week?"

"Scott's party," she reminds me.

"My mom wants to stay in the hospital all night, working on Saturday night, because she thinks if she stays here she's going to get 'in the way of the party,'" he says mockingly as if she's not right there, making air quotes and everything.

"Oh, come on Scott, stop being such a crybaby," she whines and he scoffs at her, but towards my direction and I can't help but laugh. "Most kids would beg to have their parents out of the way at their parties."

"But you're not in the way!"

"Stiles, back me up here," she says expectantly.

"I really don't know what to say," I manage to wheeze through fits of laughter. It's times like these when I wish I had a relationship like this with my dad. Not that we're on bad terms, or anything, but it's just that he wouldn't make the three of us cups of "Colombian" coffee and start messing around like another teenager. He'd make his joking remark from the next room and get back to his report or his newspaper or whatever else he's reading all the time.

I remember my own mother, how full of youth she used to be, and I decide to steer clear of the train of though when I can feel another tightening feeling around my chest. Let's not make a habit of collapsing at the sight of Ms. McCall.

"I get where both of you are coming from, but I can't be trusted to produce an unbiased verdict, I'm afraid," I conclude.

"Oh, you're no use," she scoffs and rushes off to the kitchen to return with a plate of homemade somethings. They taste good, and the texture feels great, so I don't ask.

"My friends think you're a lot of fun," Scott whines some more. "It's not going to be a huge party or anything, it's just a get-together."

"Fine, I'll think about it," she says exasperatedly.

"Mom, I know what 'I'll think about it' means already."

"Good, then you won't get your hopes up."

I go back home for a little while, and promise Scott I'll meet him at the bar for dinner and a drink, maybe, later on tonight. There's no reason to specify which bar, because there's only one we go to. The one that serves drinks to minors. You can usually find quite a few kids inside, most of them from my school, looking to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. However, especially after a classmate of mine crashed his car and got out of the whole mess with a broken leg and a DUI charge, I promised myself to never, ever, ever drive if I don't feel up to it. I tell Scott this every single time he wants to go there.

He probably knows the whole speech off by heart by this point, so I just give him the cliff notes in text message form:

"Sure, but that means I'm the d.d. unless it's like a beer or something because remember that kid who crashed his car."

Scott doesn't even bother replying, and I wasn't expecting him to.

"Stiles?" my dad calls from somewhere. I go find him in the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"Are you—You look really tired, Stiles, are you sick or something?" he remarks as soon as he sees my face.

"Uh, no, it's just been a weird couple of days," I sigh.

"Okay. You're sure?"

"Yes, father."

"In that case, are you going out for dinner tonight?"

I look at him and wonder what this might be about. You might think he's just interested in knowing, but this is the Sheriff we're talking about. Nothing that comes out of his mouth is without purpose.

"Yes, Scott wants to go out to celebrate Christmas break, or something like that. Why do you ask?" I ask quizzically.

"Oh, nothing, just asking," he mumbles and continues with his typing on the laptop. I press on several times, but to no avail. I decide there's no point to prodding him if he won't spit it out and I go back upstairs. I almost call Danny to find out how his conversation with Derek went today, which I suppose he had, but time won't allow for that so I sent him a text message and jump in the shower.

I really, really hope things went smoothly.